


CS (and other) Prompts, Challenges, and Drabbles

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff and Angst, OUAT Write Your Weird Week, One Shot, cs hiatus challenge, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 17,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Drabbles, One-Shots, and other musings from the CS Hiatus Challenge, Tumblr prompts, and Tumblr Asks. Unbeta'd





	1. Can't Survive Another / Three Dead Hearts

He watched in anguished horror as the life drained from his brother’s eyes. Even knowing that there was nothing that could be done, he continued to cry out for help. Sailors swarmed the cabin in an effort to aid their fallen Captain, but it was too late. Liam’s heart lay still, and Killian felt his own go dead right alongside. 

* * *

 

He hadn’t thought too much of the stirring within his chest as he spoke to the chestnut haired beauty the night before, but now that she was back the strumming in that dormant organ gave him a renewed sense of life he had not considered for many years.

“Things changed,” she had said, and that was all he needed to hear. For as much as things may have changed in her home life, it was nothing to the change of his outlook on the misery his dead heart had endured since Liam’s death. 

But now his dead heart beat again. Beat with adventure, and intrigue, and love. Beat again with renewed hope.

* * *

Dust and ash. Where Liam’s heart had been stilled by the viscous sap of a damned plant, Milah’s was now dust and ash.  

The bloody crocodile had refused to kill him, but didn’t the wretched creature know that Killian’s own heart had been turned to ash as well? The only thing keeping it from scattering on the winds like his beloved’s was the anger and vengeance he vowed to wrought upon his enemy, but even such intense passions could not change the fact.

Killian Jones carried a second dead heart.

 

* * *

He’d ignored it at first. 

That rhythm starting a new in the face of the fierce, tough lass who had bested him. The swell of long buried desire that crept up in him every time he caught glimpse of her form and face. The longing that plagued his chest that lingering year away from her when he’d vowed to not let a day go by without thinking of her.

It was no use, though. Emma Swan had awoken his long dead heart only to stab through it to save everyone from his own villainy. 

It was a strange thing to have a  _ truly _ dead heart. 

He’d been without his heart before -  _ damned crocodile _ \- but it had still beaten then. Now, though. There was no pulse, no flutter of life, no standard rhythm, nothing. 

His third dead heart, and by all rights is last...

 

* * *

That first beat back nearly felled him. 

Standing amongst the graves with a newly beating heart, his true love before him, Killian Jones felt alive as he never had before.

The resurrection of the flutter within his chest was a testament to their love, and he would protect  _ this _ heart at all costs. No more dead hearts.

 

* * *

It stopped. Actually stopped. 

She cast away her sword in the face of an enemy that was incapable of backing down, and Killian felt his heart stop.

Killian Jones was a survivor, though

He had survived three dead hearts.

But if this one stopped beating, he didn’t want to survive it.


	2. Unwrapped / CS + Hidden Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General audience / ~700 word count

It boggled Emma’s mind. It was the third time in as many weeks that she’d found the wrappers hidden around the house. Buried at the bottom of the trash can, jammed hastily in the couch cushions, littering the work bench in the shed. Why was Henry hiding Pop Tart wrappers?

Perhaps he and Killian had another run-in about the questionable breakfast food? She hated to think that it had gotten so bad Henry felt he had to hide them from his step-father. Emma knew that Killian meant well, but sometimes the sea Captain took over and orders were issued before he had a chance to think. 

She’d have to have a talk with them.

“Henry?” Emma called out as she knocked on her son’s door. “Can I come in, kid?”

“Sure, mom,” Henry responded, and Emma found him packing up his stuff to get ready to go meet Violet. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about these,” she said as she tossed a handful of Pop Tarts wrappers onto his bed. “Henry, I know Hook can be a bit regimented about things, but you don’t have to hide these. I’ll talk to Killian, but I need you to stop hiding these wrappers all over the house.”

Henry looked up at her in confusion. “What are you talking about? Those aren’t mine.”

“They aren’t?”

“No. I only like the strawberry ones, those are brown sugar and cinnamon.”

“Well if they aren’t yours then whose--”

“Everything alright in here, love,” came the dulcet tones of her priate from the doorway.

Emma turned to answer him and caught his brief wide-eyed expression of panic as he assessed the wrappers on Henry’s bed. She took in the small crumbs that dusted his beard, and suddenly started to have a clearer picture of what had been going on. 

Just to be sure, Emma lifted herself up to meet his mouth with hers and sure enough...brown sugar and cinnamon flavored his lips.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes at her blushing husband who knew full well he’d been caught.

His pink tinted ears must have tipped off Henry, as he cried out from the bed, “Are you kidding me?! After all the crap you’ve given me about them not being a ‘suitable source of sustenance’, and you’ve been eating them in secret this whole time?!”

Emma stifled a laugh at her son’s indignation and her pirate’s cowed demeanor, and smiled as step-father apologized to step-son before Henry left to go and meet Violet. Emma followed Killian out of their son’s room after he collected the wrappers and made her way to the kitchen, watching him deposit the evidence of his treachery in the trash can.

“And here I thought I knew all your hidden desires,” Emma teased, and Killian just smirked at her over his shoulder.

“A man has to keep a few secrets, Swan,” he mused as he made his way across the kitchen towards her. “But I’d be happy to share a few more of those hidden desires with you if you’d like,” and he began to lay kisses along the expanse of her throat.

“Let me guess,” she whispered, becoming a tad breathless at his attentions. “You have a stockpile of jello cups on  _ The Roger _ ,” and she felt a sharp pain at her side where he pinched her for her cheek as he continued his trail of open mouthed kisses down her neck.

“No? Well, then...maybe a stash of milk duds and microwave popcorn in your underwear drawer?” she continued to tease.

“Swan…” Killian murmured exasperatingly against her lips in an attempt to quiet her mocking.

“Mmmm. You know, as much as I like the brown sugar and cinnamon, you really should try the--”

But she never got a chance to finish as Killian carted her back up the steps over his shoulder, hell bent on revealing a few hidden desires that had nothing to do with breakfast pastries.


	3. Hooked on Hues / CS + Devoid of Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry thinks Hook could use a little more color in his wardrobe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Audience / ~400 words

It all began on Father’s Day.

Unfamiliar with the tradition, as none like it existed in the Enchanted Forest, Killian had been totally caught off guard by Henry’s gift. Checking his emotions in the face of the lad’s proclamation that he did, indeed, see him as a father, Killian gave a watery grin to the bright blue waistcoat his stepson had gifted him. Filled with pride and acceptance each time he looked upon it, the vest soon became one of his favorites articles of clothing.

Then came Independence Day.

“I know you aren’t from this land, but this is your home now so I thought you’d like something festive to wear to the party,” Henry had explained as he presented Hook with a red and white striped button up that he could wear under his blue waistcoat, giving him a festive appearance for the day’s celebrations.

Not wishing to disappoint, Killian donned the outfit and endured some of the more amused looks from Storybrooke’s citizenry. Henry’s pleased expression and Emma’s gratitude for indulging their son was all he needed to make the side eyed stares worth it.

It snowballed from there.

Orange, plum, mustard, hunter green, and other autumn hues made their way into Killian’s wardrobe as late summer turned into fall. Reds, greens, creams, blues, and other holiday tones found a place among his rack and stacks within their closet as well. By the time Easter came to their little town no one gave his blue gingham shirt under cream linen waistcoat a second thought. 

“Another gift from Henry?” Emma asked as she took in her husband’s appearance and noticed the new vest.

“Aye,” Killian answered. “He said it’s been his mission to bring new shades into a wardrobe devoid of color.”

“Well, I’d say mission accomplished,” Emma replied with a chuckle. “I still like you in black, but I’m glad Henry’s been able to put a bit of brightness into your life.”

“That he has, love,” Killian agreed as he wrapped his arms around his wife. “And not just he, and not just to my wardrobe,” and he met her lips as a silent thank you for the color she and her son had brought back into his dark life.


	4. Farm Hand Hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June Captain Charming Group Prompt from Tumblr: Killian helps David on the farm. General audience rating / ~800 words

 

* * *

 

“You know, Dave, when you said you needed help out on the farm, this isn’t what I thought you meant,” Killian quipped as he leaned against the barn doorway. “At least let me assist you in lifting those.”

“How?” Dave questioned. “You’ve only got one hand, and I’ve got your hook.”

When Killian had received the text early that morning about his father-in-law needing his assistance at the farm he thought the prince meant _his_ help, not his appendage.

Seems Charming’s hay hook had gone missing, and although there were more modern conveniences the man could use to lift and distribute hay, Dave, like Hook himself, found comfort in doing things ‘the old fashioned way’. The way they had back in the Enchanted Forest.

“Fine,” Killian relented, he didn’t want to get into another argument about his resourcefulness in the face of his disability with Emma’s father. “Are there any other chores I can aid you in that wouldn’t require the use of a second hand or hook?”

The prince took a moment to consider his son-in-law’s request, but as each chore scrolled through his mind he couldn’t imagine how Hook would be able to accomplish the tasks one-handed.

“Actually, I’ve got it all covered,” Dave replied. “Why don’t you go back up to the house and have Snow make you some coffee. I’ll bring your hook back as soon as I’m done here.”

Summarily dismissed by his father-in-law, Killian trudged back to the house to wait.

A little over an hour later Charming decided to prep a few things to get ready for his other chores before heading back to the house. Making his way to the coop he was surprised to see that not only had all the eggs been collected, but the chickens had been feed as well.

Hmm. Perhaps Snow decided to feed Hook and had completed that chore for him when she collected the eggs?

With that task done for him, Dave made his way see to the feeding and watering of the livestock, only to find that chore too had already been accomplished. Not only that, but the section of fence that had been damaged days prior was now mended, the horses had been led out to pasture, and the sheep had been corralled, ready for shearing later.

David was dumbfounded.

As he rounded the corner of the barn to head back towards the house he spotted Hook sitting on the back steps scratching Wilby behind the ears. He’d removed his leather jacket and his sleeves were rolled, exposing his empty brace. A sheen of perspiration clung to his face and neck, giving evidence that it was, indeed, his exertions that had freed Dave from a morning of labor.

“What? How?” the prince stammered as he stepped closer to the pirate turned farmhand.

“Oh, you’d be amazed at what I can accomplish with only one hand, mate. Just ask Emma…” Killian teased, his brows raised and tongue pressed at the corner of his mouth for emphasis.

“Alright, alright,” Dave waved off. “Don’t push it. Seriously, though. How did you accomplish all that so quickly and without--”

“Dave,” Killian exasperated. “Do you really think any of your agricultural tasks are any more difficult or taxing than those required for a seafaring life? I’ve had centuries to learn ways around this,” he said, holding up his brace. “Snow provided me with a list of tasks, and I completed them.”

“Hook, I’m sorry,” Dave responded, feeling thoroughly admonished for his lack of faith in his son-in-laws abilities. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You can just say thank you, and we’ll leave it at that,” Killian offered as he stood. “Snow has breakfast prepared for us, and since I managed to get you caught up on your morning’s work I thought you might return the favor with a few tasks I’m in need of assistance of on _The Roger.”_

“Deal,” Charming replied as he followed Hook through the back door. “And Killian,” he offered tentatively, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, mate,” Killian replied, a grin pulling as his lips.

“Here,” Dave said as he pulled Killian’s hook from his back pocket. “You’ll probably be wanting this back.”

“Thanks, mate,” Killian acknowledged as he clicked the limb back into place. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you’ve need of it again,” he offered.

“Next time I have need,” Dave countered, “I’ll take the assistance of the man it goes with.”

“Funny,” Killian quipped, with a smirk and raised brows. “Emma said the very same thing to me once, so like your daughter you are…”

“Watch it,” Dave warned, an edge of humor lacing his words. “You wanna lose the other hand?”

“I’d adjust,” Killian shrugged, and then flashed the prince another devious smirk as he added, “You’d be amazed at what I can accomplish with my-”

“Hook…”


	5. And I Don’t Want To Go Home Right Now / CS + Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian Jones had not left his apartment in two years, four months, and thirteen days. Not since he’d finally decided to shut himself away from the whole blasted world after a freak accident had left him without his hand, and for all practical purposes, his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @winterbaby89 for being my second set of eyes on this!  
> Rated Teen / ~2300 word count

* * *

 

Two years, four months, and thirteen days.

Killian Jones had not left his apartment in two years, four months, and thirteen days. Not since he’d finally decided to shut himself away from the whole blasted world after a freak accident had left him without his hand, and for all practical purposes, his heart.

It hadn’t been immediate. He’d tried to move forward. Tried to look past the pitying looks and empty platitudes. Tried to face an office full of their co-workers. Tried to accept the invitations to socialize from their friends.

His friends.

There was no _they_ any longer.

And if there was no _they_ , then he saw no point in there being a him.

So he’d walked out on all of it. New city. New job (one that he could do remotely from his apartment). New apartment. _No_ new friends.

In fact the only people he sees these days are the delivery persons from the grocers and various take-out establishments, and his landlord and lady (a blonde headed do-gooder and his pixie haired wife).

Truth be told Killian could do with even less interactions than that even.

He liked his solitude. Liked the quiet. Well, _liked_ probably isn’t the right word.

He didn’t need the company of actual people. In the quiet and solitude he had more than enough in the way of company. Memories. What-ifs. Regrets. Haunting specters of what-could-have-beens and never-will-bes.

No, liked wasn’t the right word...deserved was probably more accurate.

And so it went. For two years and almost four months before something finally changed.

It wasn’t that it was a big change. The most significant ones rarely are. Just a small, innocuous observation he’d made one night through the end of his spyglass. The one he used when the draw to somehow engage with the world beyond his four walls became too much to ignore.

He wasn’t a true voyeur, per se. He didn’t peek into people’s windows, too often. Most people had the sense to keep their blinds and curtains closed when privacy was required, anyway.

Mostly he’d watch the people on the street below or on the roof top terraces of the other apartment buildings surrounding him.

Which is what he’d been doing when he saw her the first time.

Bent over with wracking sobs, she had burst through the rooftop access door on the adjacent building quite suddenly, and with such force he’d heard the grating and slamming of the heavy, metal door through his open window. The same open window that had granted entrance to the sounds of her anguish carried on the evening’s light breeze.

An all too familiar sound. A sound he’d tried to shut out for over two years. A sound that almost made him slam that infernal window shut, but instead he allowed it to wash over him. Allowed it to whisper truth to him.

The truth that this was the sound his own heart had tried to release for over two years. The same heart he had refused to acknowledge even still beat within his chest. For if it couldn’t beat for _her_ , then what purpose did it serve?

 _An essential purpose,_ it called to him. _Just because I am broken, doesn’t mean I can not still work for you!_

And so he gave in. Gave in to pain, the anguish, the bitterness, and the rage he’d suppressed ever since that horrible day. Gave over to the tears and added his own rending sobs to those that still filtered in through the window.

He raged, and yelled. Swore at the universe, at himself, and at _her_ for leaving him. Exhausted every pent up frustration, every unshed tear, every sense of injustice he’d held against the world, and slowly gave over to a new sensation. One he’d never thought he’d ever experience again.

Peace.

For the first time in over two years Killian felt peace.

And something else….

Something that had nothing to do with the internal workings of his heart, mind, and soul, and everything to do with a stinging sensation coursing through his knuckles. He looked down to see them bruised and bloodied, unaware that he’d even struck something in is grief induced rage.

 _Nothing like bleeding to remind yourself that you’re alive,_ he mused as went to tend to his hand.

It was only after he’d bandaged himself up (a feat that still remained difficult given the lack of a second hand) that he remembered the woman who had inadvertently forced him off the ledge of constraint and repression. Picking up his spyglass once more he was relieved to see that she was still atop that roof. Even more relieved to see that she too had worked past her sorrow and seemed more at peace with whatever situation had led her to such a perch that night.

He continued to study her for several long moments. Stunningly beautiful, even with the blotchy patches of residual emotion upon her face. Her long, light-colored hair (difficult to distinguish the exact color under the dim lights of the roof top) fluttered on the breeze around her. Her strong stance communicated a toughness, while the protective way she held her arms around herself exposed her vulnerability.

Unable to turn his gaze from her, Killian watched the intriguing woman until she finally retreated back into the building, taking a bit of himself with her.

He owed her a great debt. One she’d likely never know about. One he’d never be able to repay.

He’d seen something in her that night. A kinship. A knowledge that she was no stranger to brokenness and suffering. But something else as well…

A resolve.

A resolve that whatever she had faced, whatever had tried to best her and force her to crumble wasn’t going to win.

She was a tough lass.

The next night he sat in his usual chair, staring through his spyglass when he caught sight of her again. A strange sensation tugged at his lips and it took him a moment to realize that it was a smile. How long had it been since he’d done that?

She was burdened with something again, but this time it was not an emotional upheaval, but some sort of equipment she was attempting to get through the door and set up on a raised platform. A keyboard, he realized.

Several minutes passed as she situated everything to her liking before she sat before the keys and began to play. Killian stood and rushed to the window, throwing it open in the hopes that he might catch some of the melody.

And that’s how it started. Night after night she’d make her way up to the rooftop terrace with her keyboard and pour out all manner of pathos from the darkest of her dredges to the most soaring of elations.

And with every song, every note, every lyric he’d been able to make out over the expanse between them, Killian found himself all the more captivated by her.

His days were spent in contemplation of everything from the mundane to the remarkable. How did she take her coffee? What kinds of books she did like to read? Did she like to read books, or was she more of a tv viewer? Clearly she loved and had an aptitude for music, was she in the musical field as an occupation? What color were her eyes? Did she know how endearing she was when she crinkled her nose at herself when she hit a wrong note?

He found himself wondering more visceral things as well. What it would be like to touch her, to hold her. Like heaven, probably. What would his name sound like coming from her lips? Rapture, he guessed.

Why was he torturing himself? It’s not as if she knew who he was. No one did. Not anymore.

He’d been watching her for weeks without her permission. She’d most likely be angry at the knowledge. At best she’d yell at him, at worse she’d throw him off the building.

Either way though...he couldn’t help but think it would be worth it. Worth the chance to simply speak to her. To let her know what she’s done for him.

Sure, he still hadn’t left the apartment, but he’d stepped back into life in other ways since that fateful night.

First, it was an e-mail sent to his brother and a few friends back home. E-mails became phone calls, and phone calls had become video chats. For so long he hadn’t wanted the world to see him, didn’t think any of them would understand. Didn’t think any of them would care.

But they did care, and they hadn’t stopped caring.

And they weren’t the only ones.

The day after his tirade he’d had to call upon his landlord to help him fix the hole he’d punched into the wall. Where normally he wouldn’t offer any more words than would be necessary between them, that day he found himself more inclined to engage. This openness had snowballed into now almost daily visits from either David (his landlord) or David’s wife, Mary Margaret. Visits he once would have rebuffed - firmly - but now found himself eager for as he hadn’t been aware of just how starved for human companionship he’d been.

Though patient, and clearly trying to understand his reluctance, everyone he had admitted back into his previously lonely existence still attempted to persuade him to leave the apartment. Something he just couldn’t bring himself to do.

At least...not until now.

Two years, Four months, and thirteen days since he’d shut himself away within those 750 square feet, Killian Jones was preparing himself to leave his apartment.

Why?

Why else?

Because of her.

His angel. His siren. His savior.

Because she hadn’t come to the rooftop the last two nights, and he’d feared that it was over. Sooner or later he knew that it would be; her rooftop serenades that soothed his weary soul and offered him a measure of catharsis he never thought possible.

But tonight she was there.

And he didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity in case it never came again.

It took longer than he’d planned. Almost a full half hour to simple step over the threshold and out into the hallway. Another twenty minutes to make his way down the five flights of stairs. It wasn’t until he’d hit the street that he truly knew what panic was.

Eventually, though, he’d made it. Sure, his heart was about to pound its way out of his chest and his palms were slick with nerves, but he was there. Just on the other side of the access door that led out to the rooftop. Her rooftop.

He could hear the gentle melody of one of his favorites, and pushed the door open after several steadying breaths.

Before he could even fully walk through the door he heard the music stop and his eyes snapped up to meet her shocked expression.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, lass,” he offered hesitantly, suddenly feeling foolish for just showing up. He’d come this far, however, and he meant to see it through. “My name’s Killian. Killian Jones.”

“I know,” she answered unexpectedly.

“You do?” His own dose of shock and confusion coursing through him.

“I asked Mary Margaret about you.”

“Why?” he asked, tabling the question of how the lass knew his landlady for the moment.

“Because I was curious about you. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine, love,” he assured, a sense of wonder and awe filling him at the realization that she had perhaps been as intrigued with him as he had been with her. “I want you to know who I am. That’s why I’m here. But why did you ask Mary Margaret about me? How did you even know there was a me to ask about?”

“I saw you that night,” she confessed sheepishly, and his awe and wonder turned to cold dread.

She saw him that night?

The night he’d finally let go and fought back at his demons? The night he’d unburdened his soul with screams and curses and punches. The night he’d finally laid _her_ , _them,_ to rest and allowed for his heart to beat once more.

The night he believed he could live again. Could love again. Because of her.

“What’s you name, love?”

“Emma,” she replied. “Emma Swan.”

Emma.

It sounded exactly like what her name should be. Sounded better than any other name he could have dreamed up for her. It sounded like home.

“You’re shaking,” she said after a few moments of silence, stepping forward to look him over, concern etched on her exquisite face.

Green.

Her eyes were green.

“Aye,” he responded. “Have been ever since I left the flat.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t left it in over two years.”

She just nodded. Her eyes never leaving his. She didn’t seem surprised by that piece of information, and then he remembered...she knew his landlady.

He flinched when she grabbed his hand, unused to the physical contact of others. She led him over to one of the benches on the terrace and they sat there together. Sat there for hours. Talking, not talking, laughing, smiling, maybe a little bit of crying, and sometimes just sitting. Silent. With one another.

It startled him to see the soft glow of dawn appearing on the horizon. Had they really stayed out there all night together?

A melancholy stirred within him. He didn’t want to go home. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He looked down at where their fingers were laced together and marveled once more at the turn his life had taken. Once, not too very long ago, he thought everything in his life was made to be broken, but now…

Killian looked into Emma’s gaze just as she leaned into him. Her lips pressed gently against his own, and all he could taste was this moment. All he could breath was this promise of life.

Yeah, he really didn’t want to go home right now.

  



	6. Candy is Dandy, but Liquor is Quicker / CS + Candy Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Candy is Dandy, But Liquor is Quicker / CS + Candy Kisses
> 
> Also inspired by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 aesthetic submission where she featured the Willy Wonka quote and made my muse go YAAAASSSS!
> 
> Rated T / ~300 words

 

* * *

A ‘sugar rush’ she called it.

The manic euphoria one gets from ingesting copious amounts of sugar in a short period of time.

Followed soon after by the ‘crash’.

The onset of lethargy, moodiness, and occasional stomach cramps that follows the high of ingesting copious amounts of sugar in a short period of time.

He doesn’t mind the rush part. The way it makes her a little bit giddy and giggly. How playful she becomes when the milk dud soaked popcorn finally hits her system, or how the sweet surge from the bear claw (or three) gives her a naughty desire to patrol him rather than the now quiet streets of Stroybrooke.

The problem is that its epithet is actually a bit of a misnomer. ‘Rush’ typically signifying that a thing would happen quickly. Suddenly.

Not so with sugar, he finds. The consumption taking too long of moments to finally hit her blood stream.

Not like with rum.

With rum the desired effect is nearly instantaneous. The way it warms your belly and sends that coursing heat through you after the very first swallow. How it relaxes tensions, dulls distraction, and leaves a lingering spice upon the tongue.

He likes the effects of the rum. Not the ‘I’ve lost all sense to make reasonable choices’ effect, but the sultry way she licks those errant drops from her lips...as if she doesn’t know what she’s doing kind of effect.

The luxurious and languid way she kisses him before they even make it through their first tumbler, or how her eyes go dark at him over the rim of her glass or bottle when they are out in public or in another’s home, holding promise for more enjoyable activities when they finally find themselves alone.

It may be true that candy was dandy, but liquor was quicker.

And as long as you partake in moderation, it holds all the same pleasures without the impending crash.


	7. Who Would Ever Remember Him Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Captain Hook was destined to be remembered as one of the most infamous villains in all the realms, but the man behind the moniker? Who would ever remember him? Season 5 Episode 11 angsty pirate musings.
> 
> Rated T for angst and patricide / ~700 word count

 

 

* * *

**_Who Will Ever Remember Him Now? / ~~CS~~ \+ Forgotten Son_ **

_“My wife and I...we had a son,”_ he’d said.

Brennan’s words - his father’s words - still echoing in his ear as he made his way back to the cottage his sire had pointed out to him when they’d parted ways.

A son.

He’d called Killian _son_ , a gesture the pirate had rebuffed in the moment, unwilling to display any greater show of compassion or feeling toward the man than he already had. He was risking much with this plan already.

He couldn’t believe his own ears when he’d heard himself offer clemency to the man who had caused he and his brother so much torment and cruelty at the hand of the master he’d sold them to, but as Killian secured the letters of transit he had to finally come to terms with the truth of why he was willing to spare the man…

Killian had been many things to many people in his long life, but there were few who could remember him for the man he wanted to truly be remembered for - a man who loved and was loved by others. A man named Killian Jones, and not the infamous Captain Hook.

Liam had loved him like all good big brothers should...but that love for a little brother was now lost and forgotten.

Milah had loved him as no other woman had, and mostly likely ever would...but that love had been taken from him.

Killian had no memories of a mother’s love. No memories to even forget. But he had memories of his father’s love, or at least, he thought there had been love there once. The kind of a love a father would bestow upon his son. But after the treachery of betrayal Killian had began to wonder if the man had ever really loved them at all...if he even remembered them all.

Seems he had, for Killian hadn’t even needed to introduce himself properly before Brennan had recognized him...remembered him.

A once forgotten son, remembered.

And that had affected Killian more than he’d prepared himself for.

_“You’ll come with me?”_

The offer had rocked him. Go with him? Of course he couldn’t go with him. He had his path set before him; one of vengeance and villainy. The path and purpose of Captain Hook.

And yet…

Killian could not stop himself from securing a third letter of transit, for perhaps...just perhaps, when his business with the Crocodile was finally concluded, and Captain Hook’s revenge was finally secured at last, perhaps he would…

Killian Jones just might decide to join his father and start anew. As a remembered son. As a reinstated brother.

_We had a son…_

He had another brother. Another chance to be remembered in brotherly love. Another chance to experience a father’s adoration. Another chance for family. A chance to be Killian Jones again...or so he had thought.

He’d been a fool to think that anyone cared to remember Killian Jones.

He’d been incensed at the name his father had given the boy - _Liam_. As if his brother could be so easily replaced!

_“I wasn’t trying to replace him, I was trying to honor him. To honor you both.”_

Then why hadn’t he named the boy Killian?

Hook scoffed at his own pettiness and the idea that sibling rivalry could still exist between him and his long passed brother, but that didn’t shake the kernel of hurt imbedded deep within him.

Liam had been remembered. Immortalized within a new generation, but Killian…

“ _To remind myself never to make the same mistake...I would never leave him.”_

But he _had_ left Killian. Left him and forgotten him.

And with the rage of that truth bracing him, Hook plunged his hurt and torment into the man as the dagger penetrated deep within Brennan’s gut.

 _“Killian…”_ His father had called out, and a cold, despairing truth settled over the pirate as he watched the life slip from his father’s eyes.

The last person in all the realms that could ever know Captain Hook as anything other than a villain and scourge was dead, and Killian Jones was now the very thing he feared he would be...forgotten.

* * *

"Who are you?" the fierce, blonde lass demanded as she stomped back to where he was bound against the tree. 

"Killian Jones," he replied.


	8. The Order of Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @kmomof4 and @winterbaby89 for looking this over for me and giving me good writing vibes. If you’ve read my other recent prompt submissions then you know I’ve been in an angsty Killian place...this one is no different. Enjoy!
> 
> General audience rating / ~500 words

* * *

 

_**The Order of Chaos / CS + Dark as Chaos** _

 

 

Killian had always had a measure of control over his darker impulses, even if others couldn’t see it.

As a child sold into slavery his innocence, naivete, and protective older brother had helped keep the darkness at bay for as long as possible given their dire and dismal existence. But all too soon innocence is lost and naivete gives way to the candor of harsh truths, and a brother’s love and protection can only go so far when the one you need protecting from is yourself.

Many probably wouldn’t believe it, but those formative years of adolescence that move you into manhood were actually some of the darkest of Killian’s life. Dark as chaos actually, since that was exactly what Killian was experiencing.

Chaos.

Utter confusion, a lack of order. Devoid of purpose, direction having no basis of meaning. Empty, yet filled with anarchy and disarray.

That’s how it was for Killian then. No direction. No Order. No Meaning. No code. Just darkness.

Then came the providence of a shipwreck and a fresh start.

Oh, those darker impulses were still there, just more tightly reined in by the regiment and order that befitted a loyal and ambitious naval man. The chaos brought to heel under drills and schedules, but still simmering at the prospects of battle and war and glory.

Glory for the Jones brothers.

That’s what the accursed trip was suppose to bring them. Glory. Not death. Not pain and anguish. Not betrayal of a sovereign and the upending of a once clear course.

Some might think that giving over to piracy would have been Killian’s true fall into darkness, or that losing his hand and his heart, turning him to villainy, was the thing that unleashed the chaos once more, but even then he’d been a man with a code.

Granted the line of honor shifted and swayed along the tides during his quest for vengeance, and his service to Pan had further blurred the boundaries between order and chaos, but he had still held firm to the idea of good form and where there was form the chaos could not fully impart.

Form.

Her form and face had brought him a different kind of bedlam. One that wasn’t steeped in darkness, but in radiance. A cacophony that urged itself to be a part of the greater symphony. Pandemonium that wished to become orderly and upright. A new direction that was ironically spurred on by a compass and a tough lass whose walls required a systematic approach in their scaling.

A new sense of order. A new regiment required. One that would win her heart and find himself worthy of it. Worthy of love. Worthy of hope. Worthy of a future.

But then came the Darkness.

First for her, and then for him.

If Killian thought he knew how dark chaos could be, it was nothing compared to the chaos of them.


	9. For the Sake of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 3 Canon Compliant set during Episode 10 - The New Neverland
> 
> For @leiandcharles as thanks for answering my mighty need for a gif of Roger’s punching that guy out in the last episode. Thanks again!

 

 

* * *

 

Hook stood on the deck of his ship, surveying the strange hamlet he once again found himself in through the lens of his spyglass when a flash of red and blonde came into view. He watched as she sat at the overlook point on shore, her gaze fixed on the horizon, a pensive expression beset upon her brow.

The compulsion to go to her side gnawed at him even as he willed himself to stay planted at the helm. He’d struck an accord with Bae - Neal - and he meant to see it through.

_“I made a decision when it comes to Emma… I’m gonna back off. For the sake of the boy. Let his parents have a fair shot without a devilishly handsome pirate standing in the way.”_

For the sake of the boy.

There had been truth in his words, but they were also layered in their meaning. Of course, Henry was the boy he’d meant… but so was Neal. Baelfire. He agreed to back off for _that_ boy’s sake as well. He’d already destroyed the man’s family once, he couldn’t bring himself to willfully do it again.

Which wasn’t to say he’d given up in his pursuit entirely. He was nothing if not a scoundrel and a pirate, and he rarely, if ever, made agreements that weren’t at least partially stacked in his favor.

He’d been honest with his parting words to Neal the night before, as well.

_“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You see, I’m in this for the long haul. You’ve already walked out on Emma once, not so sure she’ll let you back in. Are you?”_

As much as his former self - the good form, fight fair, navy lieutenant  - might wish to believe otherwise, Hook knew his motives weren’t completely altruistic. No. His offer to back off had been every bit as much about strategy as it had been a desire to make things right for his past deeds, and though there was an element of risk in his current circumstance, Hook felt certain that the odds would remain in his favor.

The odds that said Emma Swan would not be willing to give Neal a second chance.

Oh, it was risky, to be sure. The two had a history together, a son together. They had loved one another once, and most likely still did on some level, but Neal had betrayed Swan in the most devastating of ways, and Hook knew there would be no coming back from that.

Knew it as well as the fact that Swan preferred cinnamon in her heated cocoa, or that she’d been as tormented by the sounds of the Neverland nights as he had always been. Knew that despite finding her parents once again, she couldn’t shake off the truths she had always believed of herself, struggled to reconcile them as the falsehoods they were; lies that told her that she always had been and always would be, lost, unwanted, unworthy, unloved.

Knew it as truly as he knew the whisper of her breath against his lips and the impassioned fire that had ignited between them when hers had met his in the heat of the Neverland jungle, and knew that moment had shocked her every bit as much as it had him in its depth of meaning, reforming the foundations of truth they had both been building their lives upon.

For him, the realization that love and a future filled with promises of life and happiness, and not just death in pursuit of his revenge were possible, and for her, perhaps that she didn’t have to feel so lost, so alone, that there was someone who wanted her, someone who felt just as unworthy, but dared to hope for love in spite of how his past or her past had jaded them.

They were quite the pair. Quite the team, he’d once told her. She was still an open book to him in many regards, which was why he felt certain that when it came down to it, her decision wouldn’t be Neal. That wasn’t to say that he felt assured that she’d choose him, either, but once the decision was made… well, that’s when the promised fun would begin.

The fun of wooing the Lady Swan openly and without guilt or accusation that he was tearing apart another family. Give himself a fair shot to salvage his relationship with Neal, or be welcomed a bit more openly and warmly by Swan’s son and parents. If they didn’t see him as the reason, the thing standing in the way, then maybe…

Yes. He’d agreed to back off for the sake of the boy, but perhaps for his own sake as well. Emma knew her own mind, and once she made it clear that Neal wasn’t a part of her personal happy ending, perhaps it would give _them_ a fighting chance for one.

He was in this for the long haul. Not just in his pursuit of Emma Swan, but after as well. An after that would place him at Emma’s side, a part of something. Something that included Neal and Henry and the prince and princess and the whole bloody town. Something he’d had a taste of in Neverland as he watched Swan step into her role as leader and Savior. A role Hook knew still shook her and made her doubt herself at times.

So, perhaps it was for her sake as well.

For the sake of Swan determining for herself what she wanted, who she wanted, and standing confidently in that decision. To let her have a fair shot in speaking her heart and her mind to those who’d wish to believe they knew best, despite their well intentions.

For the sake of knowing that once her heart and mind had been decided about Neal, Hook’s pursuit to win her heart _would_ be because she’d want it. Want him.

All that remained now was the waiting.

Waiting for the sake of hoping. Hoping for the sake of believing. Believing for the sake of knowing that eventually Emma Swan might come to love him. For both their sakes.

 


	10. Pirate Lullabies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a gif set by @captainpoe on Tumblr of Emma watching Killian as he holds their daughter and sings her a lullaby. Killian's lullaby is to the tune of Hush, Little Baby.
> 
> 425 words / GA rating

* * *

 

Emma’s heart swelled as she took in the sight before her. A content, yet slightly giddy, smile pulling at her lips as she listened to her husband finish the final few lines of the lullaby he’d been singing to their daughter before starting a new tune to help her fall asleep. 

She loved it when he sang to their little bundle.

He’d started doing it almost immediately after she’d been born. Cleaned off, checked and measured, and then placed into his arms, Killian had just stared at her in awe and wonder until she began to squirm and fuss. With soothing little shushes that Emma had been on the receiving end of a time or twice, he’d begun to hum a little tune. The hum flowed into mutterings which became lyrical prose of a lullaby that had Emma staring at him in awe and wonder.

Captain Hook knew a lullaby. Who would have thought?

“My mother used to sing it to Liam and I,” he’d confessed later that first night when they’d finally gotten their daughter settled for a few hours sleep. “Liam would sometimes sing it to me after our father left us. Help to lull away the nightmares on cold, dark nights. I like to think that singing it to our little lass will somehow help her to know them.”

He hadn’t stopped with the family lullaby. Not long after, he’d asked David to help find songs native to this realm as well. Bedtime became his ritual, his special bonding time with _ his little love,  _ and Emma cherished that as much as he did. Some nights the songs were soft and sweet, other nights they were playful and silly.

Like tonight’s final offering.

“And if that pirate ship won’t sail, Papa’s gonna turn the winds to a gale, and if that gale should start to storm, Papa’s gonna tell it ‘that’s bad form’, and if bad form you should face little lass, Papa’s gonna kick it right in the-”

“Killian!” Emma quietly admonished with a laugh causing him to shoot her a playful smirk as he finished.

“In the mast,” and then continued to coo in a sing-song voice at the sleeping babe in his arms, “because I’m talking about sailing and treacherous weather on the high seas, not whatever it is your mother’s mind seemed to think I was singing about…”

Emma shook her head with a smile and huffed an amused sigh at her ridiculous husband and his pirate lullabies. Lullabies she wouldn’t trade or change for anything in the world.


	11. That's Gonna Leave a Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look. I’m a simple girl with simple needs. All I want this holiday season is Hook, on ice skates, falling on his ass, repeatedly… so here you go. Rated T, because of a suggestive pirate / 600 words / not beta'd

* * *

 

**That’s Gonna Leave a Mark**

Everyone had been thrilled by the surprise visitors from Arendelle. Elsa had managed to work out the portal magic that connected her kingdom to Storybrooke via the doorway, so she, Anna, and Kristoff had decided to spend the festive season with their friends in the Land Without Magic. Emma was overjoyed with the gift of her friend’s visit.

Elsa’s presence provided an additional gift to the entire town with the picturesque, winter wonderland she created throughout Storybrooke. Ideal conditions for snowman construction, snowball fights, and, of course, ice skating on the solidly frozen Storybrooke pond were a guarantee thanks to the queen’s icy touch.

Henry had been ecstatic at the prospect of ice skating, and it was all Emma could do get him off the ice long enough to have a bite to eat or a sip of hot cocoa. He and his friends spent hours enjoying all the wintertime activites and had even roped her and Killian into a few as well.

_(Word to the wise… don’t challenge a pirate to a snowball fight. They tend to be rather competitive.)_

The three of them had made snow angels, created a family of snowmen - _piratey ones, of course -_ and had even managed to get Killian to captain his very own toboggan with a crew of kids from their convoluted family tree.

The one thing they hadn’t been able to get Captain Hook to agree to was ice skating.

“I prefer a blade in my hand, not strapped to my feet, Swan.”

It took several pesterings from Henry, a handful of ribbings from her father, and several bribes from her - _naughty promises that had her blushing just thinking about having to make good on them_ \- to finally convince him to give it a try.

For a man who could brace himself on the deck of his ship with poise and perfect balance on even the most turbulent seas, Captain Hook had no such capability on ice skates. No sooner had they gotten his laces tied and him off the bank did his feet sweep out from underneath him landing him hard on his ass against the ice.

With some assistance from Henry and her dad, Killian managed to get back on his feet, er, skates and try again. With the same painful result.

After the third tumble Emma suggested he take off his hook, lest he impale himself, _or someone else_ , with it the next time he went down. _“Thanks for that vote of confidence, love…”_

After the fifth her dad offered to go get him some hockey pads - _or bubble wrap_ \- to help protect himself.

She’d offered to call it a day after the sixth, but ever the stubborn pirate, he’d refused.

Finally after the… well… she’d lost count, enough was enough.

“Come on,” Emma urged, hoisting Killian up from under his arms and setting him back up on his skates. “Let’s get you home and we’ll put some ice on all your sore places.”

“They’ve had plenty of ice on them, Swan,” he groused.

Ignoring his surly tone, Emma considered aloud, “I think I might have something we can rub on your backside to help with bruising, too.”

Killian halted their forward progress towards the bank, and shot her a cheeky smirk with cocked brows. “You know, love. I fell on my front a time or twice. Perhaps there’s something you’d like to rub there as well?”

That last fall was definitely gonna leave a mark.

  



	12. Pirate Miswraps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian attempts to wrap a gift for Emma. It does not go to plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CS Fic Exchange Prompt #1
> 
> \- Killian giving Emma a gift  
> \- Killian wearing no shirt at some point  
> \- Killian fighting with sellotape  
> \- Snow  
> Rated T / ~1100 words

* * *

 

Emma awoke to what sounded like muffled cursing coming from downstairs. A blurry-eyed glance at the clock showed 4:23 AM in bold red numbers and letters. Emma groaned. More mumbled expletives made their way through the house, and although Emma had a good idea of who was cursing like a sailor at the ungodly predawn hour, she reached out to the spot next to her where her husband usually slept just to be sure.

Yep, empty and cool to the touch.

Whatever he was up to, he’d been up to it for a while.

Emma made her way down the stairs, tightening the knot of her robe before turning at the landing that led to the main living area. What she found gave her a moment’s pause as her brain continued to emerge from the fog of sleep it had been unwillingly pulled from only to try and make sense of the scene before.

Killian sat in the middle of their living room dressed in only the flannel sleep pants he begrudgingly wore on cold winter nights. No shirt. No brace. No hook. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t otherwise covered.

Littered all around him and upon him were torn scraps of wrapping paper and balled up sections of tape. Clearly he’d been attempting to (unsuccessfully) wrap a gift without her knowing. Somewhere along the way the paper and tape had gotten away from him, and he was now swearing up a storm to match the snow blizzarding outside as he tried to peel off the wayward pieces of tape stuck to his chest hair.

Grimacing and cursing with each pull, Killian remained oblivious to her presence until she couldn’t contain her laughter any longer.

Killian’s head snapped up in response to little giggle-snort that escaped her. “Swan?! What are you… what are you doing up?” he asked, frantically stowing a half wrapped box behind his back.

“I had to come down to see if Santa had lost all of his jolly, or if that cursing belonged to someone on the naughty list.”

Killian smirked at her as she finished coming down the stairs and made her way over to him. “The naughty list has its merits, Swan. I believe we proved that point last night. Twice.”

Emma hummed a noncommittal sort of sound and sat on the floor in front of her merrily decorated husband. She raised her brows expectantly at him, the universal wife expression of _explain_ set on her face.

Killian let out a long suffering sigh, ran his hand over his face, and began his confession. “I know we said we weren’t going to exchange gifts, but I couldn’t resist getting you something for our first Christmas together. I wanted to have it wrapped for you to discover this morning, but as you can see,” he gestured to the chaos still affixed to him, “it has not gone as planned.”

Emma looked at her husband with sympathetic eyes that she hoped also displayed how much his thoughtfulness meant to her. Of course, he’d gotten her something. She should have known that her pirate husband wouldn’t be able to resist breaking the rules.

Emma leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Killian’s lips, and just as she knew he would he reached around to bury his hand in her hair, leaving the package behind him unguarded. He always said she had a little pirate in her too, and she proved it by snatching the box out from behind him.

“Hey!” Killian exclaimed as he grabbed for the box she attempted to keep out of his reach. “Bad form using your feminine wiles to distract me, love.”

“You don’t usually complain when I use my feminine wiles on you.”

Emma had her hand braced against his chest in an effort to keep him away from the box. As they wrestled for the gift she must have caught her fingers on some of the tape still attached to his body hair.

“Bloody hell!” he hissed in pain, and Emma grimaced at the hair coat piece of tape that now clung to her hand.

“Oh, Killian. I am so sorry,” Emma offered, setting the box beside her and tending to her poor husband. “Okay, enough horsing around. Let’s get this tape off you and then maybe I could just open the present as is. What do you say?”

“Aye, love. That sounds grand,” Killian agreed, and they set about removing the offending bits of wrapping from his person.

Once all tape had been removed, and a shirt was protectively placed over his chest, Killian sat next to Emma on their sofa and presented her with the gift. Still half wrapped, and none the worse for wear after its struggle between two pirates, Emma took a moment to weigh it in her hand and shake the box to try and guess what could possibly be inside.

Carefully, she removed the wrapping and opened the package. Nestled inside was a large, red ornament. Emma pulled it out and saw that it read _Hook and Swan’s First Christmas - The Jones Family 2017._

Emma felt the prickle of tears forming at the corner of her eyes. One slid down her cheek as she turned her head toward Killian, who readily caressed it away with the soft pad of his thumb.

“I gather that you like it, then,” he said, his eyes crinkled by the smile he gave her.

“I love it,” she murmured just before she pressed her lips to his.

“I’d hoped you might. I made sure to get it in your favorite color.”

“Please. Like you don’t also have a thing for the color red,” she teased.

“Oh, I absolutely do,” he replied. “Especially when its on you.” He twitched his brows suggestively at her, making her giggle.

“Funny you should say that,” she said seductively, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I might have also gotten you a little something.” 

“Oh? Do tell, love.”

“Well,” she continued, tracing her fingers lightly down his chest. “It’s red, and festive, and…”

“Go on,” he encouraged, his voice dropping to that husky tone that made her warm all over.

“It doesn’t require any tape to either wrap or unwrap it, and it will _definitely_ keep us both on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed appreciatively. “And as a bonus, your gift probably offers no immediate threat to any parts of my body. Unlike that sodding tape.”

“Oh, I’m not making any promises.”

 


	13. Provocative Isn't Always Practical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @csficexchange Prompt #2:  
> Write a CS drabble/ficlet that includes one or all of the following elements:  
> \-  Airport/Train Station/Bus Station/Travel Hub   
> \- A lost shoe  
> \- The dialogue, “Do you have any other interesting hobbies I should know about?” “Why did it have to be you?” “Did you just quote [insert movie of your choice]?”

 

Pain shot through Emma’s elbow and knee, the curtain of her hair parted just in time for her to see the train pull away from the station.

“Graceful as ever, Swan,” a familiar dulcet lilt drawled from behind her.

Emma looked back over her shoulder to see none other than Killian Jones casually leaning against the wall of the station looking hotter than any one had a right to. Damn the man.

“Why did it have to be you?” Emma grumbled as she accepted his hand assisting her up from the ground, only to realize that one of her shoes had come off in her fall.

“You know, Swan,” Killian purred. “As much I appreciate the provocative nature of your footwear, they aren’t very practical for chasing down the train.”

“So now your an expert on lady’s footwear?” Emma quipped. “Do you have any other interesting hobbies I should know about?” 

Killian quirked a brow and pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he took a step closer. “I have a great many interests I’d like to share with you, love.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him before snatching her wayward heel from the pavement and placing it back onto her foot. Worrying her lip, Emma considered what options were available to her now that she’d missed the train.

“I can give you a lift if you’re in need,” Killian offered, seeming to read her mind. Like always. “Where are you headed, love?”

“Just the next town over, to Brigsby.”

“Well, my bike’s around the corner, and I’ve got an extra helmet. I dropped Belle off to go visit Ruby just before you made your grand entrance,” he smirked.

Emma followed him and eyed the contraption warily as they got closer. She watched Killian climb on, grab a helmet, and hold it out to her expectantly before she finally took it from his hand.

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” she asked with trepidation, fastening the helmet into place.

“It’s the safest thing you’ll ever have between  _your_ legs,” Killian replied cheekily with a hitch of his brows.

Emma gave him an incredulous stare, then furrowed brows as she realized, “Did you just quote  _Girl’s Just Wanna Have Fun_?”

A rush of pink bloomed along Killian’s cheeks, and he scratched behind his ear before admitting, “Belle made me watch it with her last night. Apparently its one of Ruby’s favorites, and Belle had never seen it. She wants to make a good impression with their budding romance being so new and all.”

“Your a good roommate,” Emma told him with a laugh as she climbed onto the bike behind him. “And a good friend. Thank you for giving me a lift.”

“It’s my pleasure, Swan,” Killian replied. “Out of curiosity… what are you heading to Brigsby for?”

“More provocative footwear,” Emma said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s my day off, so I thought I’d treat myself.”

“Any chance you’ll let me treat you to dinner before we head back?” 

“Maybe if you play your cards right,” Emma whispered into his ear right before he kicked the motorcycle to life.

Turns out Killian Jones was very good at playing his cards right… among other things.


	14. The Postcard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CS Fic Exchange Prompt #3  
> Write a CS drabble/ficlet that includes the following elements:  
> \- A Patch of ice  
> \- A Postcard  
> \- The dialogue “Why do I get the feeling I am going to regret this?”  
> \- Offering someone a stick of gum/food/a beverage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated A for angst (sorry, not sorry) / ~2250 words / no beta

* * *

Killian locked his mailbox after retrieving the day’s mail and braced himself for the biting January winds as he made his way out of his building. Thumbing through the various letters and mailers as he made his way down the sidewalk, Killian froze when he came across a postcard with an image of white sands and palm trees displayed on its front. A wide grin broke over his face, it could only have been sent from his brother, Liam.

Six months in, on a nine month deployment, Liam’s ability to communicate while out at sea was difficult even in this technological age, so he always made sure to send his little  - _younger_ \- brother a postcard whenever he made port.

Killian hastily shoved the rest of the mail into his messenger bag and took quick steps toward the cafe at the corner where he could read his brother’s latest news over a cup of tea. Quick, careless steps that had him flat on his back a moment later when he slipped on a patch of ice just outside the cafe.

The jarring impact to his backside caused him to release his grip on the postcard and he watched in horror as the bright colors of the tropical greeting got caught and swept away by the bitter January winds.

* * *

Emma was running out of steam, but she’d be damned if she let this scumbag get away. She did not spend the past four days camped out in her bug just to lose him once he finally decided to slither out of the hole he’d been hiding in. Her skip veered down an alleyway and Emma grinned past the wince on her face from the stitch in her side. Instead of following, Emma ducked into the building next to her, the one she knew had a back access to where the alleyway let out, affording her the opportunity to cut him off.

The look on the douchebag’s face when she took him down was almost payment enough for her efforts. _Almost._ Emma couldn’t help but daydream about all the ways she might spend her payday as she cuffed him, and her fantasies of maybe, finally, taking a vacation seemed to manifest themselves in an image that caught her eye from the ground of the alley.

After handing her skip over to the officers she’d called to collect him, Emma made her way back down the alley. Curiosity had prompted her to go back to take a better look at the image, and she was surprised to see that it was actually a postcard. A postcard made out to one, Killian Jones at the address of the building right next to her own. The postmark was from over a month ago.

All practical sense told Emma that the postcard had simply been thrown out after it had been received, but something in her gut said otherwise. Maybe it was because no one had ever sent her a postcard before, or any personal mail for that matter, that made such an item seem like something that should be kept and cherished. In this age of text, e-mail, video chat, social media, and other technological communication wonders, something as rare as using paper, ink, and stamps in order to send a message of greeting shouldn’t be tossed aside, in Emma’s opinion.

“Why do I get the feeling I am going to regret this?” Emma mumbled to herself as she made her way up to the front of the building that housed Killian Jones. She wasn’t sure when she’d made the decision to return the postcard to him, but no sooner had she exited her car than she found herself bypassing her apartment building for the one next door.

Opening the door that led into the entryway, Emma was startled by the presence of two uniformed military men who had politely stepped aside to let her by. She didn’t know enough to be able to identify which branch of service they represented, but she recognized their somber look well enough to know that whatever mission they’d just completed hadn’t been pleasant.

Emma turned the postcard over in her hands, and self-conscience feelings of doubt crept over her as the elevator doors opened at Killian Jones’ floor. She made her way down the hall with measured steps, her hand raised hesitantly before she finally gave three short raps under the apartment number.

Whoever she might have been expecting Killian Jones to be, it certainly wasn’t the man who answered a moment later. Tall with dark disheveled hair, a pleasing layer of scruff that littered his strong jawline, a frame that was lean and toned, and eyes the most incredible shade of blue she’d ever seen. Startling blue, but slightly dazed as he seemed to almost look through her rather than at her until his brows furrowed and he cocked his head to one side with an expression of confused expectation.

“Um, hi,” Emma began, feeling all the more awkward over her reason for standing on the devastatingly handsome man’s doorstep. “My name is Emma Swan, and I live in the building next door.” Emma held out the postcard toward him as she explained, “I found this in an alleyway a few blocks away, and I thought you might want it.”

Emma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and wet her lips after the man, Killian Jones, took the postcard from her hand. He still hadn’t said anything, and his silence was making her nerves spike. She watched as he swallowed hard, staring at the image of a sunny beach he held tightly between his fingers. His eyes snapped up to meet her, and Emma was alarmed by the appearance of tears that began streaming down his face before a choked cry escaped him. He took a step back before collapsing to the floor, wracking sobs encompassing his body as anguish poured from him.

Emma stood there in stunned paralyzation. As much as she wanted to escape the emotionally fraught scene before her, she couldn’t very well leave him in such a state. A state she felt somehow responsible for creating. She crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her before lowering herself to the ground next to him. Soothing words fell from her lips as she tentatively rubbed a hand down his back. The force of his embrace nearly knocked her over as he anchored himself to her like a man seeking a safe harbour in which to expend his torments.

An indiscernible amount of time passed before Emma realized he’d given way to the exhaustion that usually accompanied such outpourings. Tears still clung to his cheeks, but his breathing had slowed and soft snores were now passing over his lips. Emma continued to run her fingers through his silken hair while she contemplated what to do. She could never hope to move him without waking him, something she was loathe to do; first, because she did not wish to disrupt the peace he’d finally found, and second, because of the awkward fallout that was sure to follow.

Careful to untangle herself from him without disturbing his rest, Emma grabbed a pillow and throw blanket she’d spotted on his couch and settled him there on the floor as best she could. After silently closing the door behind her, Emma rushed for the elevator and gave a sigh of relief as it began its descent without any further glimpses of Killian Jones. Not because she was desperate to leave, but because she wasn’t.

* * *

Killian shuffled his feet just outside her door. Second thoughts and chastisements of being a bloody idiot swirling through his mind even as he tucked the six pack under his arm in order to free up a hand with which to knock. Securing the beers, a peace offering, once more in his grasp he waited with bated breath for the door to open.

She was more stunning than he remembered. Granted he hadn’t been thinking too clearly when she’d appeared on his doorstep the evening prior, but he’d remembered that she was attractive when he awoke stiff necked and emotionally spent on the floor of his apartment. Her golden hair was twisted in some kind of knot at the top of her head, her jade eyes looked on with perplexed amazement, framed behind black rimmed glasses.

Killian cleared his throat and inwardly cursed the inability to scratch that spot behind his ear that always seemed to flare with an itchy tingle when he found himself in awkward situations. As if sensing the impediment, her eyes flickered down to his hands, both occupied with items he’d hoped she might accept as way of an apology for his behavior.

“Hi, I uh… I’m sorry to just drop by like this, but I was hoping you m-”

“How did you know where I lived,” Emma interrupted with an incredulous expression that had Killian’s brows hitching toward his hairline as he stammered his explanation.

“Oh! I, uh. I remembered your name and that y-you said you lived in the building next door, so I checked the boxes downstairs to get your apartment number and I wanted to thank you, for the postcard, and apologize, for the other matter, but mostly thank you, but if this is a bad time I can-”

“Hey,” she cut him off, and her hand reached out to touch his arm which calmed his blathering. “There’s no need to thank me, or to apologize. I should be the one to apologize. I clearly caught you at a bad time.” Killian felt a flush of heat sweep up his neck, over his face, and crest at his ears at the memory of how he’d cried himself to sleep in her arms. “Are you… Is everything… um.”

Killian could see that she was struggling to get the question of his well-being out, probably concerned that doing so would prompt another emotional outburst.

“I was hoping to perhaps explain myself over some chinese take out and few beers if your amenable.” Killian held up the contents within his hands, searching her expression for a hint of agreement. “If you aren’t comfortable with letting me in, and I would completely understand if you weren’t, we could withdraw to your lobby. I noticed a cozy corner there on my way up.”

They stood there for a few moments as she assessed him before finally pulling the door a bit wider and nodding him in. He followed her over to the couch and set the takeout and beers down onto her coffee table after she cleared away the empty boxes and bottles that had already been residing there.

Their meal was a quiet affair, a surprisingly comfortable silence that felt familiar and safe, as if they’d been spending time together for years and needn’t bother with idle chit chat. After the plates were cleared away and the leftovers had made their way to the fridge, Emma sat down next to him, her body slightly turned towards his, where she waited patiently for him to begin his tale.

“The postcard you returned was from my brother, Liam,” he began. “I never got a chance to read it. I slipped on a patch of ice and fell, losing it to the winds just moments after I’d received it.” He swallowed past the lump that had started to form in his throat and turned his gaze downward, not trusting his emotions enough to met her eyes. “Right before you came to my door, two naval officers had just departed. They came to inform me… of my brother’s death.” Killian heard Emma draw in a startled breath, but he pressed on. “He was killed in a training exercise while at sea. That postcard contained the last words my brother ever wrote to me. Will ever write to me, and I…”

Killian felt Emma’s arms wrap around him, once again offering comfort to a complete stranger, something he suspected didn’t come easily or naturally to her.

“Oh, Killian! I’m so sorry!”

Killian returned her embrace. “Thank you for returning my brother’s final words to me,” he murmured into her shoulder. “I’m sorry that I-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Emma admonished softly. “I’m sorry I left you. I should have stayed to make sure you were okay, but I didn’t know if you’d-”

“No, no,” he argued. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciated your comfort, how much I appreciate it now, you didn’t have to-”

Emma pulled back and pressed her fingers against his lips. “No more apologizing.” She dropped her hand from his mouth and placed it on his knee. “I’m so very sorry for your loss Killian. Please don’t give last night another thought. I don’t blame you one bit for the way you responded.”

Killian could only nod, his throat tight with grief. When he glanced her way again she offered him a soft smile that he tried to return. He knew he ought to take his leave, but the idea of going back to his empty apartment with only Liam’s ghost awaiting him was less than appealing.

“You know… there are still a couple of beers left,” Emma stated. “How would you feel about helping me finish them off while we binge something ridiculous and campy on Netflix?”

Killian’s smile became a bit more genuine as he replied, “Aye. I’d like that very much.”

 


	15. One More Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt I received from @onceuponaprincessworld on Tumblr: So, Emma and Killian are dating but they have a fight and Emma thinks that Killian is going to break up with her. They meet at a party and she speaks with Liam and Elsa and they are both looking at her left hand for some reason. They talk and make up, with a bit angst and a happy ending? Or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G / ~1300 words

* * *

 

Emma sat in her chair fighting back angry tears. After five years of friendship, and two years of dating, she couldn't believe her boyfriend would choose to break up with her like this. He was obviously trying to butter her up in order to let her down easy. Probably thought it was the _gentlemanly_ thing to do. That maybe if he took her out for a nice meal at one of their favorite restaurants before meeting all their friends it would somehow make the news that he was moving on without her less devastating.

“I can’t do this,” Emma choked out after Killian ordered them some wine and appetizers.

“Can’t do what, love?” Killian questioned, focusing his attention back on her now that the waiter had left. “Emma? Emma, what’s wrong?” Killian reached across the table, attempting to take her hand, but Emma pulled it back.

“What’s wrong?” Emma hissed. “What’s wrong is that you were offered the chance to head up the salvage expedition of that recently discovered Spanish Galleon two weeks ago and have said absolutely _nothing_ about it.”

Killian gave her a startled expression. “How did you-”

“Ruby,” Emma cut him off. “She went on and on about how exciting it was, and what it was going to mean for your career, and what did you and I plan to do about being apart for all those months.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the offer sooner, Swan,” Killian said with a thoroughly admonished expression. “But it’s the reason I wanted us to have dinner together tonight before going to David and Mary Margaret’s.”

“Yeah. I got that,” Emma clipped. “Because they all probably know about it already, don’t they?”

Killian grimaced. “Not all of them.”

“I can’t believe you!” Emma stood, not caring one bit about the scene she was making. “I guess the recipient of bad news is always the last to know. Well, let me save you the trouble of breaking up with me before you go.” Emma was so worked up that she completely missed the horrified look on Killian’s face, or the fact that she’d rendered him momentarily speechless. “Give me an hour to pack my things before you come back to the apartment. I’ll stay with Ruby until I can find my own place.”

With tears threatening to spill, and not wanting to add any further humiliation onto herself, Emma stomped off towards the exit.

Killian finally managed to get his brain and his mouth to start working together again and called after her.

“Emma! Wait! It’s not what you think.” When she didn’t stop, he got up and went after her.

Delayed by a few _Good Samaritans_ who felt it was their duty to give the distraught woman time to make an escape, Killian made it out of the restaurant just in time to see Emma climb into the back of a cab and drive off.

 

* * *

 

As the elevator ascended to her floor, Emma prayed none of her friends would be loitering in the hall. Her and Killian’s apartment was right next door to David and Mary Margaret’s. Which had once been Emma’s and Mary Margaret’s. Which was how Emma and Mary Margaret had met Killian and David, _the cute neighbor boys_ , in the first place.

When the doors opened Emma groaned over the fact that her prayer had gone unanswered.

“Emma!” Elsa exclaimed. “Come here! How was dinner? Where’s Killian? Is he parking the car?”

Emma stared slack jawed at her usually cool and reserved friend. Elsa seemed to be channeling her sister in her exuberance, and Emma couldn’t fathom why.

“Uh, no,” Emma replied as she hurried to unlock the door to her apartment, so she could avoid the conversation.

“Emma!” another voice boomed behind her. “We weren’t expecting you two for some time yet.”

Emma turned to face Liam and caught both him and Elsa staring down at her hands with perplexed looks.

“Swan?” Emma momentarily froze at the sound of Killian’s voice before whirling around and disappearing through their apartment door.

“What’s going on little brother?” Emma heard Liam ask from the other side of the door. “I thought you were going to-”

“Not now, Liam” Killian cut him off.

“Must be serious. He didn’t even correct me with _younger brother_ this time,” Liam quipped as Killian opened the door and quickly shut it behind him.

“Swan, we need to talk.”

“I don’t think there is anything left to talk about, Killian.”

“There is, actually.” Killian gently grasped her elbow and turned her back toward him. Holding out a piece of paper he said, “Read this.”

Emma chewed her lip in contemplation before rolling her eyes and snatching the paper from his hand. Opening it she found a printed-out email dated from the day before that read:

_Dr. Jones,_

_We would be more than happy to accommodate the inclusion of your research assistant as part of the official expedition team. I apologize that this decision took some time in being finalized, but hope that this news will mean you’ll agree to…_

“Research assistant? What research assistant? You don’t _have_ a research assistant.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest and threw an accusatory look Killian’s way.

“Oh, bloody hell woman! You!” Killian exasperated as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “When I first got the offer, I didn’t say anything to you right away because I wanted to see whether or not it would be possible for you to come with me. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”

“So, you took me out tonight to ask if I-”

“If you’ll come with me,” he finished softly. “I know it’s asking a lot. Six months is long time to be away from our friends and families, not to mention your job in bail bonds, but-”

Emma threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his before he could finish. “Yes,” she murmured against his lips.

“Yes? Really? You’ll come with me?” Killian elated.

“Really,” Emma affirmed before looking up at him with apologetic eyes. “I’m so sorry, Killian. When Ruby told me all that this morning I just… I let my mind go to the worst-case scenario. I thought you not telling me meant that you didn’t… It scared me. And you know how I get. When I get scared my walls go up and I-”

Now it was Killian’s turn to cut her off with the press of _his_ lips. “I know, Swan,” he whispered before bringing his mouth back down to hers, alleviating her worries and fears with his gentle yet enticing kisses.

Her anxieties thoroughly soothed, Emma assured Killian once more that she was absolutely certain that she wanted to join him on the expedition.

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” he said as he took a small step back from her. “I wanted to let you practice that response before I asked this next question.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and her heart slammed in her chest as she watched Killian sink down onto one knee.

“I’ll not have you thinking that I would ever leave your side Emma, because there is nowhere I’d rather be.” Killian pulled a small, black, velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Emma gasped at the truly stunning ring inside. “What do you say, Swan? Got one more yes for me?

She didn’t even let him get the next question out. “Yes!”

 


	16. Detective of the Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, @cocohook38 absolutely won the day on Tumblr with her incredible art of our dear Detective Rogers in his skivvies. I just had to write something in response to her fabulous art, so here is a fun little something for y’all about Rogers and his undies ;o)
> 
> Rated something along the lines G, but we are discussing a man in his undies / less than 1k / thanks to @artistic-writer @kmomof4 and @winterbaby89 for looking it over for me!
> 
> Tagged: OUAT Season 7, Detective Rogers

 

* * *

 

Rogers took in a deep, fortifying breath as he sat in his car across from the police station. His shift started in a few minutes, but he needed every moment he could get to brace himself for what surely awaited him inside. Today was the day he’d been dreading with every fiber of his being.

The day the charity calendar was released.

It happened every year. Police and fire stations across the city would produce calendars for charity. Calendars that were meant to highlight what an asset their services were to the community, but more often than not simply highlighted the participants’ _assets._ They were beefcake calendars, plain and simple, and Rogers had been tapped to be among his precincts participants in this year’s _Eye Candy Extravaganza_ \- as Sabine had so eloquently put it.

There would be no end to the ribbing he was about to receive from his fellow officers, but Rogers took comfort in the fact that he was just one of eleven others that would be facing the same teasing as well. Small mercy though it was.

Rogers set his resolve, straightened his shoulders, and headed toward the building to face the music. As expected he was greeted with catcalls and whistles. He knew he was blushing up to the tips of his ears, but he tried to wave them off with an air of nonchalance as he made his way to his shared office.

“Hey! Detective Eagle Scout!” the desk sergeant called out, making Rogers grit his teeth. “I think you missed your calling. I hear the Paramount is hiring some male entertainment. I suggest auditioning in one of the Captain Hook ones.”

Laughter erupted around him. Rogers furrowed his brow, not understanding what the sergeant meant by his remark until he finally made it to his office door. Taped to its surface was an image of himself stripped down his skivvies from the day of the photo shoot. It was clearly the front cover of the calendar, but instead of the practically painted on trousers with his badge clipped at his waist, shoulder holster sans shirt, and ridiculous pose of him seductively leaning against a desk, this image was merely him candidly standing in his boxer briefs.

His cheeks flared again, and he tore down the image before opening the door. The sight that greeted him as he stepped over the threshold stopped him short as he stared in disbelief. The same image wallpapered his office, but they weren’t all of the calendar’s cover. No. The image had been altered slightly, with the pattern on his boxer briefs changed in order to differentiate one month from another and that realization had him groaning in utter mortification.

He was the model for the _entire_ blasted calendar.

One image with thirteen different photoshopped patterns on his undies for each of the twelve months and the cover. White polka dotted ones for January. Skull and crossbones for October. A large sailboat declaring _Sailing Is Life_ over his… for July, and a pair of R2D2 undies for May. Because of course they were - _May the Fourth Be With You_ \- that made sense. There were also three Captain Hook prints, one Tinkerbell, and… were those crocodiles? Those patterns gave him pause.

“Where did they even get this picture of me to begin with?” Rogers muttered as he began taking down pages.

“It was a test shot,” Weaver answered, making his way into their office and setting himself down at the desk without pause to the exposing images of his partner blanketing the room.

“Right,” Rogers replied as he continued to tear down patterns of anchors, chess pieces, and stripes. “And you wouldn’t happen to have had anything to do with this, would you?”

“Me?” Weaver exclaimed incredulously, though Rogers could hear the falseness in his partner’s tone as he responded to the accusation. “Why on earth would I get involved in something as frivolous as a charity calendar?”

“Why, indeed,” Rogers inquired under his breath. Perhaps it was some sort of hazing tradition? It wasn’t unusual for senior detectives to _initiate_ the junior detectives with a bit of good natured torment. Rogers figured there were worse things Weaver could have orchestrated than some embarrassing photos in a calendar that was already meant to provide a bit of scandal.

Rogers was pulled from his considerations by a rapt knock and turned just in time to see Sabine enter. “Hello, there,” he greeted as he quickly removed the last few pages from view. “What, uh… what brings you by?”

“I came to see if there were any more calendars. We’ve sold out already.”

Rogers balked at her announcement. His skin grew hot at the rush of bashfulness that overtook him in the knowledge that she’d already seen the infernal thing, then his eyes grew wide as comprehension of her words settled over him.

“Sold out?!”

“Yep,” she grinned. “Must be some kind of record. You and your adorable undies are quite popular detective.”

For some inexplicable reason Rogers felt the compulsion to scratch a now tingling spot behind his ear, but refrained. He attempted to reconcile his combating thoughts and emotions the morning had wrought upon him. On one hand, it was very disconcerting to think about the number of people who were in possession of that calendar. On the other, it was all for a good cause. He supposed he could endure a bit of humiliation if it meant helping people in the long run.

Just so long as Tilly never saw it. He wasn’t sure he could survive that level of awkwardness.

 


	17. Swan and Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick ficlet in response to @snowbellewells prompt: I think it would neat to do one of those film noir, black-and-white 40s detective movies (like The Maltese Falcon) AUs.
> 
> Rated T / ~1200 words

* * *

 

The fog hung heavy in the air; a shroud of ominous premonition foretelling events Emma was determined to avoid. It was the kind of night where you locked your doors and pulled your curtains tight. A night where polite society turned a blind eye to the seedy underbelly that tended to carouse more openly, choosing willful ignorance so as to not sully itself with awareness of the wretchedness that existed within the shadows.

Emma Swan did not have the luxury of ignorance. Nor did she have the luxury of believing some white knight would arrive to rescue her from the wretchedness she now found herself in. She believed the only one that saved her _was_ her, and no amount of fog or shadows was going to stop her from collecting the tattered remains of a life that had been pretty good up until yesterday. Up until her no good boss, August Booth, had gotten in too deep with the Stiltskins and decided to skip town, leaving her high and dry with a business that was now bust and the threat of mob goons beating down _her_ door.

Keeping to the back alleys, Emma made her way to the now deserted street were the Booth Private Investigations’ office was located. She waited several minutes staking out the building before determining it was safe enough to enter. The rapid click of her heels as she darted across the street had her cursing internally, and one almost became audible as a shadowy figure of a man stepped out into the road before her.

Frozen in the middle of the street, Emma ceased to draw breath as her heart slammed in her rib cage. After what seemed to be an eternity, the male specter flicked his cigarette into the gutter and turned, heading in the opposite direction with a purposeful set in his stride. As soon as the figure disappeared around the corner Emma bolted for the building’s entrance.

Steathfully slipping into the office, Emma dared not switch on the light. Choosing instead to let the flame of her cigarette lighter guide her, it took Emma longer than she would have liked to get the hidden safe opened and cleaned out. She’d just moved on the file cabinets when the outline of a man appeared on the other side of the frosted glass window of the P.I.’s door.

Emma scrambled to pull the small Beretta August had given her from her purse. Light from the hallway flooded the cramped room as the door swung open, and it took Emma a few moments to adjust to the brightness.

“Careful where you point that thing, love,” a familiar, accented lilt warned in a dulcet tone.

A tone that belonged to none other than crime reporter, Killian Jones.

An expat who had relocated to Storybrooke after being medically discharged from Her Majesty’s Navy due to the loss of his left hand during the war, Jones was one of the city’s most notorious police reporters. He’d covered a number of Booth P.I.’s cases, and while Emma could admit that he was a wildly talented journalist, there was also no denying that he was an arrogant ass.

An arrogant ass that drove Emma to all kinds of distraction with his chiseled features, seductive swagger, and a wicked inappropriateness she’d like to take to task… in her bed.

“What are you doing here, Jones?” she demanded in a harsh yet hushed tone.

“Why does anyone come here, Swan?” he retorted as he leaned against the doorframe. “I’ve come to employ the services of this fine firm.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t heard, the firm’s gone bust,” Emma groused, turning her attention back to the file cabinet. “August is out twenty-five large to the Stiltskins, and Malcolm put a bounty on him. He’s on the lam.” Emma slammed the cabinet shut and moved on the desk. “I’m tempted to go find his sorry ass and haul him in for the take myself. Not that they’d ever actually give the pay-out to some broad.”

“You’re hardly _some broad_ , darling,” Killian replied as he made his way around the desk to stand before her. “And besides… you and I both know it isn’t Booth I came here looking for.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she stared into his too-blue eyes. “What do you mean by that, Jones?”

“I’ve covered enough of this firm’s cases to know that the brains behind the operation isn’t August.” Killian stepped closer, his body nearly flush with hers as he whispered. “It’s you, Emma. I want _you_. I _need_ you.”

Her breathing shallowed and she attempted to swallow past the pleasurable tension rising within her. Wetting her lips she asked, “What’s the case?” acutely aware that his gaze had momentarily drifted down towards her mouth.

He shook himself and rocked back on his heels, creating space between them without moving away as he refocused his attention to the purpose for which he’d sought her out. “Missing persons,” he replied. “My brother, Liam. He’s, uh… he’s missing.” Killian’s jaw tightened and his eyes burned with a desperate intensity. “You’re the best there is when it comes to finding people Swan, and I need your help in order to find my brother. So what do you say, love? Will you take the case?”

Emma chewed her bottom lip as she considered his proposal. She could certainly use the money, and working closely with Jones wouldn’t necessarily be the _worst_ thing in the world.

“Alright, Jones,” she agreed, squaring her shoulders authoritatively at him. “I’ll take the case. Help me finish clearing out the office and we can discuss the particulars over dinner. Your treat.”

A wide grin broke across his face and he let go a relieved sigh. He swayed back into her space and reached up to sweep a section of hair over her shoulder. “I don’t say this to upset you Emma, but,” He leaned in and ghosted his lips over the shell of his ear as he finished, “I think we’ll make _quite_ the team.”

Their eyes fixed themselves onto one another’s, desire crackling in the scant space between them. Jones cocked a smug, challenging brow at her and Emma, not one to back down from a challenge, grabbed the lapels of his trenchcoat and pulled his lips to hers. A moan emitted from the back of his throat from the hot slant of his mouth over hers was the last thing Emma heard before the window next them exploded in a hail of gunfire.

“Swan! Get down!” Killian shouted as he pushed her to the ground, covering her with his body as they waited for the onslaught to cease.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there Swan?” he quipped while bracing himself on his forearms as to not crush her with his body weight.

“Nope,” she fired back. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

Silence descended around them. Emma knew they needed to move, needed to make their escape before the gunman came to make sure he’d finished the job.

“Oh, I assure you, darling,” he whispered as footfalls echoed from down the hall. “I do so love a challenge.”

 


	18. Things Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @justmilah on Tumblr asked: "I wish you would write a fic where" Milah. (Yep, that's the prompt. Just Milah. Oh hey, see what I did there? 8D) 
> 
> Milian pairing / ~200 words / G rated

* * *

 

He hadn’t expected to see her again, not after she’d disclosed the responsibilities she had at home. An ailing child and a husband, she’d said. 

Killian had asked around about this  _husband_ , and it churned his stomach to think of such a beautiful, vivacious woman shackled to a man like that. A coward. A man unwilling to fight. Even after only a few moments in her presence Killian knew she deserved better. 

She deserved the world. 

He’d been willing to give her that. Had offered it to her open-endedly should things ever change, but with her assertions that they wouldn’t he hadn’t dared hope.

Until she walked through the tavern door.

Their eyes met and Killian fought to catch his breath as she made her way to his table. Firelight danced along her skin and twinkled in her eye, illuminating flecks of auburn in her chestnut hair. 

She stopped and stared down at him with a determined resolve in her gaze as she offered him a soft smile and said, “Things changed.”

And indeed they had, for in that moment, Killian knew he would never be the same.


	19. The Flavors of Hook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first contribution to the OUAT Write Your Weird Week. Based on prompts I received that included the Coven of Hooks (a creation of cocohook38 and sherlockianwhovian on Tumblr, and used with their permission), the Jolly Roger, milkshakes, and fluff.
> 
> Rated T for brief mention of tentacles, and F for more fluff than I consider healthy / Unbeta'd / ~700 words
> 
> This is meant to be weird. That's the point. Just go with it.

 

* * *

It had been a glorious day of sailing for all the Hooks on the _Jolly Roger_ \- once they’d determined who would _actually_ act as captain, that is. The winds had been favorable, the sun had shone on their faces, and the salty brine of sea had filled their lungs.

Killy Cat had worn himself out chasing a re-rodentized Smee across the deck and through the holds, and was currently curled up on Wish Hook’s chest as the two dozed on deck in the late afternoon sun. Despite the intention of the day to be one of pleasure, Lieutenant Jones and Detective Rogers hadn’t been able to stop themselves from inspecting, cataloguing, and organizing things to make sure all was ship shape. Their Storybrooke counterpart and the youngest of their Coven had sparred they day away with wooden swords, while Dark Hook had watched fondly from the shadows lest anyone see his smile at their merriment. The Deckhand had sat in awe of their Tiny compatriot as the littlest (physically) Hook regaled him with tales of his adventures. The skittish man never ceased to marvel at the bravery and tenacity Tiny Hook showed in navigating his oversized world filled with treacheries that the rest of the Hooks would find common place. All of their activities had been sanctioned and supervised under the watchful eye of their Captain - Slave Killian.

“You know what would make this day even better?” Young Killian piped up. “If we could have ice cream before heading back to the Coven!”

All the Hooks smiled at the little scamp’s pleading eyes as they gleamed with innocent mischief.

“I don’t think a sweet treat is too much to ask for,” Storybrooke’s Killian replied with a wide grin. No amount of his disputed grumblings would ever convince the other Hooks that he’d gone a bit soft since finding True Love. None of the other Hook’s would ever fault him for it either. “Perhaps a detour into town is in order?”

“No need.” Dark Hook emerged from the passageway and waved a hand, depositing a treat before each of the Hooks (and a newly transformed Smee).

A bowl of cream for Killy Cat, the largest ice cream sundae Young Killian had ever seen, and decadent milkshakes for all the other Hooks and Smee appeared among a rousing cry of appreciation. Though it shouldn’t have surprised them, there had been a curious realization that each Hook had a different preference in their flavor choice.

Some weren’t all that surprising: vanilla for the Deckhand, dark chocolate for Dark Hook, and coffee for Storybrooke Killian. _For reasons_ , he’d said with a waggle of his brows. Roger’s flavor of cake batter had brought up a rather sensitive subject of an incident involving Roni, a cake, and a trash can. Some brows had lifted at Wish Hook’s admission that his was rum raisin, and most felt that the choice of mint chocolate chip suited the Lieutenant, though they couldn’t really say why. Tiny Hook had opted for strawberry, and their _captain_ , Slave Killian, took the opportunity to enjoy the decadence of chocolate.

Once all the shakes had been consumed, and each Hook thoroughly sated by their sweet treat, Captain Killian gave the order to head back to the Coven before darkness fell. Dark Hook whisked Smee back to Storybrooke before magically setting their course. Their blissful day was at an end, but oh what a day they’d had. Each Hook was so wrapped up in happy thoughts that none of them noticed what lurked beneath the waters in pursuit of them.

Two tentacles raised themselves out of the water in excitement. So many flavors of Hook for Kraken-san to choose from!


	20. Captain Floor: A Love Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the OUAT Write Your Weird Week event. Based on the prompt: Captain Floor needs a proper fic...

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Animosity. Hatred. Discontent. Resentment. Those were the feelings in the beginning of their relationship. It was a cold, hard, unyielding offering that showed little measure of comfort to Killian in those early years.

The floor. 

How he’d despised it back then. 

Relegated to sleep in a dusty corner of it after his father had abandoned him and his brother, Killian had longed for the lumpy mattress and itchy wool blanket over the filth and stench of the hold floor. 

Their relationship was not much improved during his tumultuous adolescence. Swabbing muck from its surface well into the evening only to wake in his own sick from where he’d passed out on it from too much rum the night before. He’d thought he’d been able to leave it behind for good when he and Liam had finally escaped the bondage of servitude. Officers quarters with a suitable bunk and duties far above the station of having to labor over its boards, Killian relished those years where the floor remained beneath his feet and not under his back.

But then…

Slumped down, with the weight of his brother pressing him against the floor, it seemed to mock him at being abandoned once more, but that same cruelty had not been present after Milah’s death. If anything, it had welcomed him to find respite upon its surface when he could not bring himself to sleep in the bed he’d shared with his love. It held no judgment when he drank himself into a stupor during those long Neverland nights. It even became his co-conspirator when he’d utilized to sell the lie of being a lone survivor after a massacre, then later when he’d continued to lay upon it, pretending to still be knocked out so the Swan girl could make her way back to her land.

How many times had it caught him when a foe had knocked him down? Or when the love of his life had to ram that cursed sword into his gut to save everyone from his own villainy. It had held them both then when she’d wept over his body, and its cold, hard surface had provided numbing relief in the Underworld after the beatings he’d endured at Hades hand. 

Now that he was back in the land of the living, climbing the front steps of the house he’d selected for their future, Killian had only one agenda in mind. After crossing the threshold of the front door he dropped to his knees and pressed his lips against the cool surface of the floor. He was finally home.


	21. The Cheeky Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the WWII account of a US Navy man (image below/slightly nsfw) who stripped down during the heat of battle to rescue a downed pilot from the Pacific Ocean .

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“First time on an Air-Sea Rescue Mission?” the handsome gunner, Killian Jones, called out over the roar of the engines. Emma offered him a tight smile and nod before going back to check her camera equipment. “Well, you never forget your first,” he quipped, and despite her best efforts to smother it, a smile pulled at the corners of her lips.

Emma Swan was one of the few female photojournalists assigned to the Pacific theatre. It had originally been deemed too dangerous for women, and too much of distraction for the servicemen, but she was nothing if not tenacious in her pursuits. After months of lobbying, she’d finally gotten the assignment and now found herself strapped into a cramped space within the US Navy PBY Catalina patrol bomber flying out with its crew on a “Dumbo” mission.

“Look alive, lads!” the co-pilot’s voice boomed over the headset. “We’ve just received word of a downed marine pilot. We’re headed in.”

Emma held on tight as the plane banked to the left and she marveled at the gunner’s ability to keep his balance, bracing his stance and absorbing the movements of the plane as if he were an extension of it.

“So, how did you end up in the US Navy?” she shouted at Jones. “With that accent I would have taken you for a Brit.”

Without taking his focus from the field of open sky in front of him, he replied, “Dad’s a Brit, mom’s American. My brother and I have dual citizenship. My older brother joined the Royal Navy when England entered the war in 1939. I was already here in the states attending university, and couldn’t get home to follow in his footsteps. After Pearl Harbor though, I made my way to the nearest enlistment office.”

“Is your brother… I mean, your family, are they…”

“They’re all well,” he assured, finally turning his face towards her and offering her an appreciative smile for her concern; one that absolutely did nothing to her pulse rate.

“We have a visual on our target, but heavy fire is coming from the island! Deploy the life raft, conditions are not safe for landing! Return fire to give the pilot some cover!”

There was a flurry of activity as the crew jumped to orders, and Emma pulled out her camera to document the activity. The deafening concussion of the .50 caliber guns rocked her to the core, as did the sight of Jones suddenly stripping off his boots and flight suit.

“What are you doing?” she inquired with a small tint of flustered hysteria in her tone, attempting to shield her eyes from the enticing view of his now bare backside.

Jones seemed completely unphased at standing before her in nothing but his skin, a look of determination set firmly upon his chiseled features.

“He can’t see the lifeboat! Something’s wrong with his eyes. He’ll never find it if he can’t see it,” Jones shouted into his headset. The pilot squawked something back, but Emma couldn’t quite make it out.

“Brace yourself, love,” Jones instructed, removing his headset. “We’re landing.”

The plane roughly touched down onto the water and positioned itself between the downed pilot and the island from where they were still taking on fire. Without hesitation Jones dove into the blue waters of the Pacific and fought his way through the turbulent seas toward the nearly drowned man. Emma shook herself from the blatant appreciation she was giving and resumed documenting the rescue, snapping shots of Jones as he gathered the man in his arms and began the arduous task of swimming him back to the plane. Gunshots continued to ring off the hull, and the other gunners returned fire as the co-pilot and other crewman worked to pull the downed pilot, then Jones out of the water.

“The package is secured!” the co-pilot shouted into his headset, indicating to the pilot that both men were aboard.

_Not quite_ , Emma mused to herself as she watched a still naked Jones take his place back at the gun, donning only his headset after shaking the excess wetness from his raven locks as the plane took flight once again.

“For god sakes Jones, put your pants back on, would ya?” one of the other gunners razzed.

“Not while we’re still in danger of having my ass shot off, thank you very much.”

Emma stared mesmerized at the way the salty ocean droplets beaded against his skin before running down the length of his body. His previously admired stance displayed the flex and strength of his legs, back, and buttocks as he manned the machine gun before him, the shockwaves of the blasts rippling through his muscles and causing droplets to fly off his nude form.

Emma brought her camera up to her eye and captured the glorious moment within her lens before stowing the equipment back into her case. When she looked back at Jones he was giving her a wicked smirk with a devilishly arched brow that told her he knew exactly what she’d done.

She replied with a innocent shrug of her shoulders and cheeky smirk. “What? I mean, I am a photographer, after all. You make for an interesting subject, Jones.”

“I have a great many other _subjects_ you might find interesting, love. Perhaps I can show you later?”

“I think I’ve seen quite enough already,” she chuckled while pointedly dragging her gaze over his body.

“Oh, Darling,” he purred. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image credit to Horace Bristol.


End file.
